Acidic Heart
by ScaramoucheJay
Summary: Can't go outside anymore when it's raining, Can't smash up that beautiful face... Draco's decent into the world of the deatheater (One Shot)


Acidic Heart  
  
Disclaimer: The characters are JK Rowling's and the song is Alkaline Trio's  
  
He likes to act like he's all grown up  
  
He wanted to grow up to be an actor  
  
But he never told anybody  
  
He smoothed back his hair, pretending to sneer at the man that stood before him. He would not lose his cool in front of him. He would not show emotion and he would not be broken by him.  
  
"I'm not going to do it. I'm not going to be under anyone's thumb. I don't want to do it." He was vaguely aware that he was talking, but could barely make out the words; they were almost smothered by the beat of his heart.  
  
"It's not a case of wanting to do it, it's a case of what's best for the wizarding world. It's a case of having to do it. It's your duty."  
  
"You can't and won't make me."  
  
A sharp pain exploded through out his entire body. It burnt, stung, prickled and throbbed all at the same time. He hadn't heard the curse, but he knew which one had been used. The pain was excruciating, yet it stopped, just as suddenly as it had started.  
  
"Do you want a bet?  
  
He likes to spill all of his guts  
  
On the top of a well stocked bar  
  
And then swallow them bit by bit, remembering every scar  
  
As a valid reason for every drink  
  
Another convulsion racked his body, and the retching began again. He felt the liquids rising inside him and the bittersweet feeling as the poison within him escaped. He had been like that for days, aching all over from the various types of physical torture they had dreamt up for him, in an attempt to shame him into joining. The only way to stop the pain was to give in. He still had his pride however. Though it was only a matter of time until that was gone. They would break him. They knew he would yield, they knew it was only a matter of time until they won.  
  
And a new tattoo is a reason to think  
  
He likes to pretend he's all sown up  
  
It makes for a much stronger case  
  
But there is blood underneath his skin  
  
That scar is not so easy to erase  
  
As the cloaked and hooded figure slowly opened the cell door, he felt himself wince at the light that met with his eyes. Light, yes, he remembered what that was.  
  
"Are you ready?" asked the voice. It sounded dead, as though it had died from the inside out. It had asked him the same question every day since he had arrived there. He struggled to push himself off the floor, using all the little strength he still possessed to hold up his frame. He smoothed his hair, and sneered the same sneer he had sneered every day of his life. He still had his pride, although bruised, dented and somewhat diminished. He could gracefully allow them to think they had won; he was safe in the knowledge that they could never take his pride away by inflicting bodily pain. He would still be his own person. At least, that's what he told himself.  
  
"Lead the way."  
  
He walks with a glass cane now  
  
He's careful, when holding his body up straight  
  
He walked slowly, following his 'comrades', their slow procession to where they would use their port key. He walked stiffly, but propped himself with his cane as little as possible. You'd need a cane too if you'd been through what he had. The physical torture had stopped after he had 'allowed' them to succeed, but then the de-censoring had begun, to teach him 'humility'. The mental torment would remain with him forever. He wasn't even sure if he knew what pride was any more. The place they had branded him still hurt. It was still fresh. When they had done it, he had cried out in pain, but that had just made them laugh. They were cruel like that, cruel and bitter and twisted.  
  
They reached the place they needed to be in. Then, as though touched by some unknown wand, port keyed to their destination: Hogwarts School of witchcraft and Wizardry.  
  
Can't go outside any more when it's raining  
  
Can't smash up that beautiful face  
  
Another innocent girl just made his list  
  
That self pity shit is just too hard to resist  
  
He arrived in the great hall, with the others around him. They mover in formation, no scattered, headless, passion filling their soul, just cold, calculated cunning. The dead, hollow feeling inside each of them aching, as though screaming to be filled in. He could hear the screams; the frantically shouted charms, uttered in hope of escape. He felt nothing; cut off from the beings that cried out in fear. They did not know that there was no escape.  
  
He too followed the plan, that no one had spoken, yet knew. The syllables of the curses resounded around the hall, punctuated with the dull thump of bodies.  
  
He looked around himself watching the chaos. He felt someone grab his arm, and realized he had been standing motionless. Realising what he had to do, he pulled out his wand, throwing his cane to the wayside. He slowly, painfully stalked to the place where he could see a group of boys defending themselves from behind an over turned table, stunning anyone who came up against them.  
  
Slowly, coldly and methodically he muttered the words that would end the boys defensive. When all lay dead, he stumbled painfully to the place where they lay. He had been told he would feel satisfied, powerful to be able to control when others died, but the chasm inside him just grew as he looked at them.  
  
In the corner, he could hear sobs, and raising his wand went to look at the mourner. A girl of about 16 years of age sat there, cradling the head of one of the boys he had cursed, a boy he had killed. Between the sobs she was talking softly to him. As he raised his wand to end her suffering, his robe rustled, and the startled girl looked up. Her eyes found his and he could no longer move his tongue to form the words. For a long moment each just held the others gaze. He felt he should say something, feel sorry for her pain.  
  
But he didn't have to.  
  
The liquid brown eyes that held his own gaze glazed over and the girl slumped forward over the body of the boy. He turned to see someone with identical eyes to his own staring back at him, wand raised in his hand.  
  
"You can't spare someone for having a beautiful face."  
  
And when we get home you'll see  
  
That this part of him is now a part of me  
  
A cold bitter smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. He had once been told he had a beautiful face. He doubted he would ever be told that again.  
  
"No. You can't," he choked out, glancing down at the body again. "But you can destroy them," His father smiled, and carried on with the messy business, but he just stood. And although he smiled, he could feel the last ounce of hope and morality in his soul disintegrate. A warm glow filled his belly, moving in waves through his entire being. Ah. Was this the satisfaction he had heard so much about? He felt it flood through his body, and felt calm. Or was it just numb? He couldn't tell any more. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all.  
  
Or maybe the front had just become easier to put up.  
  
Because he knew you could never destroy a beautiful face. And maybe this is why he was different. Because he understood human emotion. Gazing at the body again, a single tear rolled down his nose, and spattered on the floor. Maybe this was the beginning; maybe this was the end. But either way he was damned, whether he had chosen it or not, and he should get on with the last fragments of his bitter existence. And with that last resounding thought he picked up his wand and cursed he last standing. That part of his comrades he had never understood was now within him. Or at least he thought it was.  
  
And he didn't believe it would ever be removed.  
  
And it's way too easy to fake this smile, lead you on  
  
Maybe I'm wrong, but everyone gets bored once in a while. 


End file.
